Not Waving Nor Drowning
by cloudsandswallows
Summary: A Cedric/Fleur love story. Rating will probably change.
1. Prologue

The second Fleur stepped off that powder-blue carriage, Cedric knew.

As her pale hands drew her fine silk robes around herself, her icy blue eyes sweeping around the Great Hall, her face settled into an expression of haughty, dignified irritation. Her gaze caught on Cedric like a snag in a piece of material, before gliding over him and the rest of the Hufflepuff table. She had a scarf half-wrapped around her face, which she did not remove even after she and the rest of the Beauxbatons students had taken seats at the Ravenclaw table. Fleur Delacour might have seemed like a snob during those early few hours, but Cedric knew better.

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**New story I'm thinking of, as I am in love with Fleur/Cedric right now...**

**Tell me what you think! 3**


	2. Chapter 1

Fleur shivered.

There were nothing like this many people in the whole of Beauxbatons, which suddenly seemed very, very far away. She drew the muffler tighter around her neck and surveyed the hall with what she hoped was cool indifference. Fleur Delacour did not show weakness. Because of this she tried to avoid the burning gaze of a boy to the right of her- he was dark-haired and extremely handsome, more rugged than the boys at Beauxbatons, but he looked _nice_. If there was one weakness Fleur had, it was _nice _people.

Most of the Hogwarts students were still staring at Madame Maxime; Fleur took the arm of the closest person she had to a friend right now, a slender curly-haired girl named Aurore, and took a seat at the furthest table from the burning boy. Aurore caught her looking.

"Oh, Fleur. Il est tres beau, non? Mais cesse de regarder." She giggled.

Fleur managed an unashamed smirk at Aurore; she had to keep up appearances. But the boy really was _charmant._


	3. Chapter 2

When Fleur heard the burning boy was going to compete against her in the tournament, part of her was scared. Another part of her was pleased that he was obviously smart as well. Before the first task everything sped past before she had time to grasp what she was about to do; she attended the wand weighing, trying to ignore the fact that she'd be up against a _petit garcon_, she had photos taken by a tall man who stared at her, she tried to understand how said _petit garcon _wasn't part of an _immense_ fix, and she stared at the burning boy (who seemed to get more _charmant _the more she stared at him.)

When Madame Maxime told her it was to be dragons, the scared part of her took over. Fleur didn't know anything about dragons, and she had no-one to help her: Aurore had abandoned her the minute she was chosen from the goblet of fire, and now spent her time gallivanting around with an ugly Durmstrang boy. The girl never had had any class.

When it was time to find out which dragon she was taking on in the first task, she was nervous. Of course. Her hands shook, and for the first time in her life she began to sweat.

When she reached a clammy hand into the purple bag, and pulled out a little green model of a dragon, she didn't know enough about dragons to know whether to be more frightened or relieved. The boy stopped pacing around the tent just long enough to give her an encouraging smile. She stopped worrying for a minuscule second, smiling genuinely back at him.

When he had to go out for his task, Fleur began to bite her nails. She stood up suddenly as the crowd made a particularly loud collective groan. She paced around the tent, taking the same steps as he had while he was there, and pretended everything was normal. It was unbearable.

By the time Bagman called her name, she had been reduced to a shaking mess. The thought of the boy pulled her through; she had to know whether he was okay or not. Chin up, shoulders back, she thought, and managed to stop trembling enough to walk out of the tent.

The dragon wasn't actually as big as she had expected. She took a breath in anticipation, and began her sleeping charm.

_Vous etes ici pour une raison. S'allume. _She told herself.

Weaving her way towards the dragon egg, she avoided the jets of flame from the snoring dragon the best she could, trying to keep her mind from other things. Adrenaline kicked in. She darted towards the golden egg. Something grazed her leg. There was a hissing, crackling noise, and her skirt caught fire- the dragon stirred-

"Aguamenti!" She shrieked, dousing her skirt in water. She ignored the pain from her leg and lunged for the egg. Grabbed it. Fainted.

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No time at all had passed, although it felt like it had, when she opened her eyes again to the sight of several wizards carrying her away from the dragon. They were talking very quickly in words she couldn't quite understand, and when they felt her begin to struggle they set her back on her feet to see her scores. Nothing passed through her brain in the minutes after that, not the _petit garcon _or Viktor Krum tackling their dragons, not Madame Pomfrey bundling her up and coating her thigh in an unfamiliar paste. The first thing she did notice, upon re-entering the tent, was that the boy had half his face covered in the same paste Madame Pomfrey had treated her burn with. She hoped it wasn't bad.

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When Madame Maxime told them one evening about the Yule Ball, Fleur was excited. She couldn't help it. It would never amount to the balls they had at Beauxbatons, but still it would be fun. Her mind jumped to the burning boy, the one who still hadn't talked to her... maybe he had a _petite amie. _Her heart sunk. She'd seen him around with a girl, a pretty _Chinoise _girl, but they didn't seem particularly close. Perhaps she was wasting her time. It wasn't like she was short on invitations to the ball anyway.

The next evening she was making her way to dinner when the boy came up to her, the same burning look in his grey eyes. "Hello?" She said, absentmindedly smoothing her hair down.

"Hello... my name's Cedric." He said, rather quickly, so it was lucky Fleur understood what he'd said.

"Yes?" She often wondered whether she was too cold.

"I just... was wondering how you were finding it here?" He asked amiably. Nicely. "Do you have a partner for the Yule Ball?"

"Yes, I do," She felt compelled to say. "Are you were going with ze... your... _petite amie?_"

"Sorry?" He said, with an adorably confused expression. "I, er, don't speak much French."

"I meant-" She began, but was cut off suddenly by a slightly dazed looking red-headed boy stumbling up to her.

"Excuse me!" He blurted. "My name's Ron Weasley!"

Everyone in the immediate vicinity turned to stare at him, some smirking, some shocked.

"Do you want to go to the ball with me?" He whispered.

Fleur was outraged. Couldn't he see she was talking to Cedric? (he had a fitting name. She'd never heard anything like it.)

As Fleur got more angry, reality started to dawn on Ron, and he fled the scene.

Cedric smiled wryly and touched Fleur on the small of her back. "I'll see you around?"

Fleur opened her mouth, but he was gone.

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**What do you think? :) I've been trying to make it fit in with the book as much as I can, and I'm finding lots of lovely Cedric/Fleur things that I never noticed before!**

**Oh, and I've been forgetting a disclaimer. Of course, I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters.**

**Love :)**


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